


Or Any Other

by takadainmate



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin."I've told you a thousand times," Stephen admonished him unsympathetically. "Avoid strange men in dark alleyways offering you exquisite goods."
Relationships: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin
Kudos: 7





	Or Any Other

Stephen touched his fingers lightly to Jack's brow, frowning when Jack grimaced in pain.

"I've told you a thousand times," Stephen admonished him unsympathetically. "Avoid strange men in dark alleyways offering you exquisite goods."

"I thought it was a euphemism," Jack said defensively, and Stephen was sure to prod the wound a little more firmly.

"Stephen," Jack complained.

Not a fracture, he decided, gentling his fingers along what felt like the edges of a cut, long, but not deep. Jack’s brains were already too addled to worry about any damage of that kind either.

"A euphemism, for all love," Stephen replied disdainfully. "Had it indeed been a euphemism you would have come to me anyway, but with an entirely different ailment."

Jack winced, more at Stephen's tone than the indelicate way he cleaned the wound. There was a lot of blood, as there always was with head injuries, and Stephen could already see the initial signs of bruising across his forehead, all the way down to his ears. The villains had beaten the Captain quite soundly.

"I was drunk," Jack said, as though that explained everything.

"I can smell that," Stephen replied. Drunk and over-fed, his face still red and his breath reeking of the vile, vinegar wines the port innkeepers peddled to seaman who neither knew nor cared how their alcohol tasted. Jack should know better.

Vigilance and distrust on land were, however, almost unknown to Jack Aubrey.

Despite Stephen's grip on his head Jack tried to look away, but Stephen held his chin firmly. There was a splinter of wood in the broken flesh, and Stephen carefully teased it out.

"And it's been so very long," Jack said, more quietly, less certainly. He dared to glance up at Stephen and there was regret in his eyes, and longing. Stephen sighed. It was a rare occasion, almost impossible, that he could stay angry with Jack for very long, and not when he was looking at him with such affection.

"My dear," he said, and let his hands stroke down the sides of Jack's face so the captain would understand; there was nothing to forgive.

There was silence for a long moment as Jack watched Stephen, eyes hooded, and as Stephen caressed Jack's temples. It was late into the night, or perhaps early into the morning now, and all that could be heard was the familiar creaking of the ship as it rocked from side to side, the occasional calls of the watchmen, the dull thud of ropes and feet on deck. In the distance, Stephen could hear the song and drunken bawling of sailors along the harbour front.

He glanced behind him to his cabin door. Closed, but not bolted.

"In this space," Jack smiled, reaching up and placing a hand on Stephen's neck, "no one would be able to get in the door without knocking us both over."

And whose fault was that, Stephen thought, that they were on such a small ship and that Stephen's cabin barely had the room to store the most meagre of specimen collections.

His annoyance was forgotten, though, when Jack pulled Stephen down with strong, insistent hands and kissed him lightly. It really had been a very long time since they had done this.

"You're still drunk," Stephen murmured against Jack's lips, still cold from the night air and lying on the ground. They had just left him for dead, Stephen knew. They had taken his money- which for all the bad fortune hadn't amounted to very much because this was, after all, Captain Aubrey. They had left him to die in an alleyway, not taking into account Jack's impossibly hard head, and the thought left Stephen cold.

Stephen kissed Jack in return, because the thought of never doing this again was unthinkable.

In the dim light of his cabin Stephen let his fingers brush over Jack's cheeks, along the line of his chin, because he wanted to see him; his bright smile, and his bright hair, and his scars, and everything.

It was unwise to do this here, regardless of what Jack said, but Stephen found it so very hard to pull away from Jack's eager mouth.

"I can _taste_ that foul wine," Stephen complained, face still too close, licking his lips in distaste but enjoying the way Jack's eyes followed his tongue.

"Do forgive me, Stephen," Jack apologised earnestly, teasing at the ends of Stephen's hair. He leaned in again, trying to find Stephen's mouth again, but winced at the movement, hissing.

"Drunk and beaten about the head," Stephen lamented, pulling back to look at Jack reproachfully. He stroked his hands gently through Jack's hair though, across his scalp, looking for the places he would need to clean and perhaps sew. Stephen would never admit it, but he loved the feel of Jack's soft hair running through his fingers, and despite the poor circumstances relished the opportunity, the excuse, to indulge.

Jack had the decency to look abashed, even if there was a knowing look in his eyes as though he knew just how much Stephen adored his hair. "I will be more careful next time," he promised.

"Next time, indeed," Stephen tutted, and for a long moment Jack closed his eyes, leaning into Stephen's caresses. Perhaps this helped, a distraction from the pain Jack had to be feeling.

These quiet moments, those very few times they were alone like this in a place where Killick or Pullings, or anyone else might walk in demanding Jack's time and his presence, were so very rare and Stephen cherished every passing second.

He pressed one more kiss carefully to Jack's mouth, knowing their peace couldn't last for much longer, knowing he had to attend to Jack's poor head. There was nothing more to be said, because they each knew they could do no more tonight. Neither knew when they would be able to so even this much again and it was this thought that drew out the kiss to something long, a slow press and slide of lips.

The sparseness of contact, of opportunity, was the inevitable nature of their affection for each other; it was how it had always been and would likely always be because of who and what they were. But in that little time, with the taste of vinegar and longing in their mouths, with light, cautious touches, an intimacy the likes of which neither found with any other being, it was enough.

**.End.**


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